Series Five:

Drama

No. 2

Henry Nevil Payne, The Fatal Jealousie (1673)

With an Introduction by

Willard Thorp

The Augustan Reprint Society

November, 1948
Price One Dollar

GENERAL EDITORS

Richard C. Boys, University of Michigan
Edward Niles Hooker, University of California, Los Angeles
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., University of California, Los Angeles

ASSISTANT EDITOR

W. Earl Britton, University of Michigan

ADVISORY EDITORS

Emmett L. Avery, State College of Washington
Benjamin Boyce, University of Nebraska
Louis I. Bredvold, University of Michigan
Cleanth Brooks, Yale University
James L. Clifford, Columbia University
Arthur Friedman, University of Chicago
Samuel H. Monk, University of Minnesota
Ernest Mossner, University of Texas
James Sutherland, Queen Mary College, London

Lithoprinted from copy supplied by author
by
Edwards Brothers, Inc.
Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A.
1949

None of Henry Nevil Payne's plays, The Fatal Jealousie (1673), The Morning Ramble (1673), The Siege of Constantinople (1675), bears his name on the title-page. Plenty of external evidence exists, however, to prove his claim to them. John Downes, in Roscius Anglicanus (1708), has this to say: "Loves Jealousy [i.e. The Fatal Jealousy], and The Morning Ramble. Written by Mr. Nevil Pain. Both were very well Acted, but after their first run, were laid aside, to make Room for others; the Company having then plenty of new Poets" (ed. Montague Summers, London, n.d., pp. 33-34). "After the Tempest, came the Siege of Constantinople, Wrote by Mr. Nevill Pain" (ibid., p. 35). Langbaine's An Account of the English Dramatick Poets (1691) gives no author for The Siege of Constantinople, but says of The Fatal Jealousy that it is "ascribed by some to Mr. Pane" (p. 531) and of The Morning Ramble that this "Play is said to be written by One Mr. Pane, and may be accounted a good Comedy" (p. 541).

We do not have to depend on the early historians of the English drama for certain knowledge that Payne was for a time a dramatist. Though his brief excursion into the theater must later have seemed to him a minor episode in his life, Payne's enemies were aware of the fact that he was a playwright and have written their knowledge into the record of his treasonable activities. For example, the author of a burlesque life of Payne, which contains, so far as I know, the only connected account of his activities, makes this useful remark: "Then [after his return from Ireland in 1672] he composes a Tragedy of a certain Emperour of Constantinople, whom he never knew; but in whose person he vilifies a certain Prince [Charles II], whom he very well knows" (Modesty Triumphing over Impudence ... 1680, pp. 18-19).

As an agent of the Catholic party, Payne had excellent reasons for wishing to keep his affairs well veiled. What we know of his life has had to be pieced together from information found in state papers, court records, and "histories" of the branches of the damnable Popish plots.* The date of his birth is not known, nor of his death, unless Summers was correct in giving it (without supporting evidence) as 1710 (The Works of Aphra Behn, 1915, V, 519).

Payne's first opportunity to serve the Catholic party came, apparently, in 1670, when he went to Ireland in the employ of Sir Elisha Leighton, who was private secretary to the new lord lieutenant, Lord Berkeley. By April 1672 Berkeley's pro-Catholic rule had so alienated the city council of Dublin that he was ordered to return to England and the Earl of Essex was sent out in his place. From

Back in England, possibly by mid-May, 1672, Payne must have plunged at once into work for the theater. The Fatal Jealousy was performed at the Duke's Theatre in Dorset Garden in August 1672 and The Morning Ramble was shown at the same theater three months later. Both plays were performed before the King (Allerdyce Nicoll, A History of Restoration Drama, 1923, p. 309). Payne's third and last play, The Siege of Constantinople, which reached the stage in November 1674, is of particular interest in view of his long association with the cause of James, Duke of York. Payne found his plot in the General Historie of the Turkes by Knolles, but he altered history to produce a work which would compliment James. It is significant that there is no prototype in Knolles for Thomazo (James), the brother of the last Christian emperor of Constantinople (Charles). At the end of the play the Turks conquer the city (sc., the Dutch and London) and the Emperor is slain. Here was a warning to Englishmen of what would happen if their double-dealing "Lord Chancellor" (Shaftesbury)--the villain of the piece--were to succeed in alienating the two royal brothers.

During the years 1678-1680 Payne's name dodges in and out of the thousands of words written about the Popish plot. He was pretty certainly a friend of Edward Coleman (Secretary to the Duchess of York) who was executed for treason in December, 1678. After a hearing before the Privy Council, Payne was held over for trial and imprisoned in the King's Bench. Confinement did not in the least hinder him from giving aid to the Catholic party in organizing its counter-attack. According to Mr. Tho. Dangerfields Particular Narrative (1679) he was one of the chief devisers of the Presbyterian Plot and, as "chief Pen-man" for the Catholics, the author of several "scandalous books" about their enemies. Payne was again before the Privy Council in November 1679, but eventually all the principals in the Catholic plots to discredit the government were released.

After the accession of James II Payne kept more respectable company. References to him during these years say nothing about any work for the theater, but his pen was still busy--from 1685 to 1687 in the cause of religious toleration. In 1685 the Duke of Buckingham published A Short Discourse upon the Reasonableness of Men's having a Religion or Worship of God. A portion of this pamphlet had been written as a letter to Payne. When Buckingham's work brought on a pamphlet war, Payne (together with William Penn) rushed to his defence. The debate grew hotter when James made the first Declaration of Indulgence in April 1687. Payne was one of the chief controversialists in the war of words that followed. Another literary friend of these years, and an extravagant admirer of his devotion to the Stuarts, was Aphra Behn. She dedicated her Fair Jilt to Payne in 1688 in terms which suggest that he had favored her in tangible ways.

With the deposition of James, the years of Payne's greatest activity begin. The story of his life for the next twelve years is intricate and exciting, for he has now moved out of the company of writers into the dark world of secret agents and prison-guards. Though he was confined in the Fleet by January 1688/89, Payne went boldly ahead with plans for what would be the first Jacobite conspiracy, the Montgomery Plot. By some means he contrived to escape to Scotland, where his plans had, of course, more fertile soil in which to grow. Once more in custody, he was moved from one prison to another, but the Privy Council was incapable of persuading the Scottish authorities to "put the rogue to it." As more and more evidence came out showing how deeply involved Payne was in the Montgomery Plot, the Scottish Privy Council finally was prevailed upon to put Payne to the torture. On Dec. 10, 1690, he bore the pain of two hours under thumb and leg screws with such fortitude that some of the Councilors were "brangled" and believed that his denials must be the words of an honest man. The Earl of Crawford, one of the witnesses to this, the last occasion in Britain in which a political prisoner was tortured, was so moved that he reported to the Earl of Melville that such manly resolution could come only from a deep religious fervor: "[Payne] did conceive he was acting a thing not only generous towards his friends and accomplices, but likewise so meritorious, that he would thereby save his soule, and be canoniz'd among the saints" (Letters ... to George Earl of Melville, Bannatyne Club, 1843, pp. 582-3).

For nearly eleven years more Payne was moved from one Scottish prison to another, while the Scottish Privy Council sought to turn him over to the English and the Privy Council in London endeavored to force him to trial in Scotland. The truth is that Jacobitism was so rife in high places that they whose duty it would be to prosecute him feared what might happen if he were brought to the bar.

Finally, in February 1700/01, Payne was released. He made his way to the Stuart court at St. Germain, whose incorruptible secret agent he had been for twelve years. It was fitting that the last information we have of him during his life is derived from his "Brief memorial by way of preface to some proposals for your Majesty's service," a detailed letter of advice instructing the exiled king how he might yet recapture his throne (printed in Original Papers; containing the Secret History of Great Britain, 1775, I, 602-5). When last heard from, Payne had yet another conspiracy planned and ripened, to submit to his sovereign's approval.

Payne's Fatal Jealousy has intrinsic merit. If he had written more works for the theater, he might have been remembered with Southerne and possibly with Otway. But for the scholar this tragedy will be chiefly interesting for the Shakespearean influences to be found in it. Evidently Payne held Shakespeare in great reverence, and the result is that The Fatal Jealousy is one of the earliest examples of the return to the Shakespearean norm in tragedy after the interlude of the heroic play. Payne ridicules the love and honor theme in The Morning Ramble where he makes Rose say (p. 54):

Love and Honour are the two great Wheels, on which all business moves. The Tradesman cheats you upon his Honour, and like a Lord swears by that, but that he particularly loves you, you should not have it so. No Tragedy, Comedy, Farse, Demi-Farse, or Song nowadayes, but is full of Love and Honour: Your Coffee-drinking Crop-ear'd Little Banded-Secretary, that pretends not to know more of Honour than it's Name, will out of abundance of Love be still sighing and groaning for the Honour of the Nation.

The speaker of the Epilogue to The Fatal Jealousy pointedly reminds the audience that they have listened to a genuine tragedy and not to an heroic play. Its author has not relied on the "rules of art," but hopes he may have succeeded by some "Trick of Nature."

Most obvious of the Shakespearean influences is the jealousy theme in which Don Antonio is modelled on Othello, Caelia on Desdemona, and Jasper on Iago. My colleague, Professor E.L. Hubler, who has a vast deal of the Shakespearean text in his memory, finds twenty-two possible echoes or parallels. Of these we agree that at least fourteen are certain. The influences strike in most impressively from Othello, Hamlet, Much Ado, Midsummer Night's Dream, and The Tempest. Let me cite two or three unmistakable echoes. Jasper's

It is to be regretted that when The Fatal Jealousy came to the stage the company had, as Downes says, "plenty of new poets," and so the play was laid aside after the first run. The performance must have been brilliant. The greatest of Restoration stage villains, Sandford, played Jasper. The parts of Caelia, Eugenia, and the Witch were taken by veteran actors. "Mr. Nath. Leigh" made his second appearance on the stage in this performance as Captain of the Watch. The lecherous Nurse to Caelia was played by the famous Nokes whose sobriquet of "Nurse Nokes" may have come to him with this rôle rather than from the part he took, seven years later, in Otway's Caius Marius.

The text of The Fatal Jealousy presents no special difficulties. Such slight variations as I have found among the eleven copies I have examined--chiefly dropped letters and the imperfect impression of some words--can be accounted for as accidents to be expected in the printing off of the sheets of a single edition. There seems to be no significance in the fact that the title-page in some copies shows an ornament placed between the second rule and the word London.

The copy of the play here reproduced is owned by the University of Michigan, and is reprinted by permission.

WILLARD THORP
Princeton University

* For this biographical sketch of Payne I have drawn on my "Henry Nevil Payne, Dramatist and Jacobite Conspirator," published in The Parrott Presentation Volume, Princeton, 1935, pp. 347-381.

THE

Fatal Jealousie.

A

TRAGEDY.

Acted at the Duke’s Theatre.

Licensed Novemb. 22, 1672.

Roger L’Estrange.

LONDON,

Printed for Thomas Dring, at the White
Lyon, next Chancery-Lane end in
Fleet-street. 1673.

The Actors Names.

Women.

PROLOGUE

By Mr. Smith.

THE

Fatal Jealousie.

Act the First. Scene the First.

Cæl.
MY Lord, you well may blame my conduct of

Anto. Come, come, these are but wyles to Palliate things,
Can you believe me stupid, or an Ass?
To think my Wife should meet a Man i’ th’ Night;
Nay, more; a Man that was my seeming Friend;
Yet taken in at Window privately!
Nay, which was most, stay with him two full hours,
And in a Room made proper by a Bed,
And yet not Cuckold me; the thing’s too plain,
I do not doubt the deed, which Iv’e Reveng’d
In part, by killing him: No, I am mad,
That you should think so meanly still of me,
As to hope time may alter my belief;
Which is by such unerring Reasons fixt:
Or else that you suspect my Truth, when I have sworn
By all things sacred; nay upon my Honour
(Which I am so Jealous of) that if you would
Relate the truth of your so close amours,
I from my memory would blot it all,
And look on you at worst, but as the Widdow
Of your dead Couzen Lewis.

Cæl.Good my Lord,
Forbear to use these killing Arguments,
Which every moment give me many Deaths,
Rather be like your self, that’s Gen’rous,
And kill me once for all; torment me not
By giving no belief, either to Vows
Or Actions that have spoke my Innocence:
Reflect (my Lord) on the unwearied pains
Iv’e took to gain your pardon for his Death.
Think with what patience I’ve suffer’d still
Your often starts of Passion, which sometimes
Have ne’re produc’d th’ effects of Cruelty.
And without boast, my Lord, you well do know
My Friends were much too strong for yours at Court,
Then had I but made known your severe Carriage,
Or suffer’d your surprizal—’tis too plain;
Yoor Life had been a forfeit to the Law.
And were I but the wanton Wife you think me,
What wou’d more welcome be then that Revenge—
Here on my knees I beg again, my Lord,
You would perswade your self, that what I told you
Was cause of that close meeting, was so truly,
And no invention; and as this Day
Began our Nuptial Joys, so let it end
Our Marriage Discords; then shall I have cause
To keep it Annually a Festival;
In thanks to Heav’n for two such mighty Blessings.

Anto. Cælia, stand up, I will perswade my self.
By this —— I will as much, as e’re I can,

That thou art Innocent, for if thou bee’st not,
What Woman in the World ought to be thought so?
But prethee be discreet, mannage thy Actions
With strictest Rules of Prudence, for if not,
Like to a Bow or’e-bent, I shall start back,
And break with passion on thee: wilt thou be careful?

Cæl. Oh! I am paid for all my sufferings,
This kindness does or’e-joy me, which, my Lord,
Let me for ever lose when any Act
Of mine, shall justly make a forfeit of it.

Flor. My Lord, here’s Don Gerardo come to see you.

Anto. Admit him in.

Cæl.I will retire, my Lord.

Anto. You need not, Cælia.

Welcome, Gerardo, this is like a Friend,
That name should know no Ceremonious Laws,
Let them make formal Visits that maintain,
As formal Friendships; ours is try’d and true.

Gerar. This, as I take it, was your Wedding-day,
At which (your pardon, Madam, for a truth.)
I was a Jealous waiter; your great worth
Made me to fear I then had lost a Friend,
And in that room should an acquaintance find.

Cæl. But now, my Lord, you see how you mistook,
I was a Rival to his Mistresses,
But to his Friends, one to increase their number.

Ger. I find the truth so great, I wish you may
Live long and happy to possess that place;
Yet I’le confess I did not lose my fears,
Till my dear Friend was pleas’d to use my Sword,
As Second, in the Quarrel with your Kinsman,
The Unfortunate Don Lewis; and I protest
Such Joy I met to be employ’d by him,
That I ne’re sought to know what caus’d the quarrel.

Cæl. My Lord, I beg your pardon,
I have some little bus’ness in my Closet
Which forces me retire.

Ger. Your Lady looks as if she were displeas’d.

Anto. That Kinsman whom I slew is never nam’d,
But if she hears it she avoids the place.

Ger. I’m troubled much to be th’ occasion now.

Anto. No matter, Friend, she only knows the cause,
Why from such Friendship we grew Enemies,
And there is reason why she should be griev’d.

Ger. That sudden and so secret Quarrel
Did much amaze all Naples;
And I (as Actor in it) often have been prest
To tell the cause, which yet I never could.

Anto. No, Friend, nor never must:
The Gen’rous Lewis; so I’le call him now,
Since he so bravely dy’d, was alwayes just
During that little time he breath’d this Air;
After his mortal Wound, for he Related
A Story of it fitted us for pardon:
Yet never told that Secret, only known
On Earth, to him, to Cælia and my self.

Ger. I’me not inquisitive, nor never was,
There may be secrets fit for no Mans hearing.
And ’tis an Act of Friendship full as great
To tell a Friend I hide a secret from him,
As to Relate it, since they both shew Candor—

Anto. Happy Antonio, in a Friend so just!

Ger. Happy Gerardo, rather, that can say
He’s sure he has a Friend, that dares employ him;
For confidence in Friends makes Friendship sure.

Anto. And dearest Friend, I’le not doubt yours so much,
To think you would not use this Life of mine,
As ’twere your own in any thing concerns you.

Ger. Ne’re doubt it, Friend, I soon shall find occasion
Boldly to use the power, and to speak truth;
My coming now was chiefly to that purpose;
Though I intended to spend this day too
In Recreation with you, and to see you Bedded,
Like a new Bride and Bride-groom,
Then wishing you long: long and lasting Joys,
Retire, and wish to Copy out your Life.

Anto. Has Don Gerardo Service for Antonio,
His own Antonio and yet defers to name it?
Speak your Commands, that I as swift may flye
To put ’em into Action as I did
At first to meet those pleasures Lovers long for.

Ger. My fears perswade me I shall speak too soon,
Yet dress your self, and come into the Garden,
I with impatience there will wait to tell you.

Anto. Go then, you shall not long be silent.

Who waits there?

Pedro, call my Wife—
My Wife, said I! Gerardo, didst thou know
The secret fears contain’d within this Bosome,
Thou’dst sooner pitty me, than wish my Life:
How can I think her story of the Jewels,
And other matters ’bout her Fathers Will,
Could have produc’d so scandalous a Meeting?
And yet she still avows it! Oh, Jealousie!
Where will these panting fears still hurry me?
I hourly seek to find what I wou’d give,
A thousand Worlds my heart would ne’re believe;
And yet for what do I thus vex my self?
For that, which if ’twas gone, I cou’d not miss;
No, would I could, for then I’de never fear,
But when I found her Honour gone astray,
I’d send her Life to fetch mine back again.

Cæl. What’s your Command, my Lord?

Anto. Prethee, my Dear, do not retire too much,
But shew a merry freedom to our Friends,
That they may think us happy, themselves welcome.

Cæl. My Lord, I shall, and reason have to do it;
But I desire you would dispence my absence,
Only a little time, I being preparing
A general Confession I shall make to Morrow.

Anto. You’l be too long about it.

Cæl. No, my Lord, I take the shortest way
In writing what my thoughts can re-collect.

Ant. You would not let me read it, when y’have done?

Cæl. I do confess I should be loath, my Lord.
But yet from any Sin concerns your self,
I am as free as are the purer Angels,
Or may I find no profit by my Prayers.

Anto. I will believe thee; go, make haste and do it.

Yet, if’t be possible, I’m resolv’d to see it;
’Twill Cure my fears, perhaps, or change their Natures,
And make ’em certainties the lesser evil cause sooner Cur’d:
For Jealousies with fear doth plague the mind,
But that is Cur’d when certainties we find.

Jasp. Oh, plague o’this Old Bitch, she has kept me
so awake with her Coughing all Night, that I
have quite out-slept my self.

By Heav’n near Ten a Clock, and she not gone
yet—plague on her—she’l be catch’d, and I shall
be turn’d away—why Nurse—make haste, ’tis Ten a
clock and past, you will be wanting.

Nurse within. That cannot be, alas, the times but short
that I’ve been with thee, my Dear.

Jasp. No, perhaps you think so;
but let me ever want money to drink,
if I have not thought the time longer
then her Life has been, and that began beyond the mem’ry
of man. What drudgery am I forc’d to undergo to
get a little money to support me—that I may Live to
watch all apted times for my Revenge on this whole
family, who Rise upon the Ruines of our House.
This Nurse of Ninety never stayes with me but I’de as
live have been Rid by a Night-Mare.

Nurse. What’s that, Night-Mare? Am I a Night-Mare?

Jasp. No, Nurse, I said, I was troubl’d with a Night-Mare,
and should be worse, were it not for thy Company.

Nurse. Nay, I am good Friend of thine every way.

Jasp. That’s true; but Nurse make haste, for I am
damnably afraid Flora suspects us e’re since
she took me in your Chamber, and if she shou’d
take you here, and tell my Lady, I should be turn’d
away, for you know she loves me not e’re since I
gave my Lord notice of her meeting Don Lewis,
to give him the money and Jewels, her Father
left privately in her hands for him when he dy’d.

Nurse. I Chuck, but why didst thou do so?

Jasp. In hopes to have got some of the money for my
discovery, what made her tempt me with the
trust of money, and give me none to keep Counsel.
But prethee Nurse be gone.

Nurse. I, give me but one buss, and I will.

Jasp. What a belch was there to perfume it?

Nurse. Sweet Rogue, I cannot go without the other kiss.

Jasp. Oh, Nurse! you will undo me; prethee no more.

Nurse. What, Rascal, slight my favours? you shall repent it.

Jasp. No, Nurse, think not so, but—

Why, Nurse, Nurse, my Lady wants you; come away there,
I know where you have been all Night.

Jasp. Why, there ’tis—this is what I fear’d, I am undone,
a plague of Cubbard Love—step into the Closet.

Nurse. What’s that you say, Cubbard Love?

Jasp. No, no, prethee no Arguments, but step into the Closet.

Flora within. Why, Nurse, I say! why don’t you come away?
My Lady wants you.

Jasp. Flora, what’s the matter with you? Nurse is not here;
do but come in and see.

Flor. Come, come, she must be here; for she
was not in her own Bed to Night, and where should
she be, but with you?

Jasp. With me! what the Devil should she do with me?
Can’t her Old Chopps mumble her Beads o’re, but I
must keep count of her Pater Nosters: No, no, she’s
gon on Pilgrimage to some Shrine, to beg Children
for my Lady; ’tis a devout Old Woman.

Flor. Devout! I, her Devotion and yours are much alike,
the Fit ne’re took you but once in your Lives, and
then, ’tis true you wept at Prayers, that was, at your
own Christnings.

Jasp. Prethee more Charity, sweet dear Flora; come, let
me kiss thee.

Flor. Pray forbear, I’de sooner kiss a Horse.

Jasp. Why so scornful, dear Flora?

Flor. That’s not my bus’ness; come, tell me, where’s the Nurse?

Jasp. Prethee, why dost ask me for the Nurse? Dost think
i am so hot to make Love to a Monument? Why, she’s
old enough to be Mother of all Mankind; her skin’s
turn’d to parchment, he that should enjoy her, had as
good lye with a bundle of Old Records. In truth, she’s
fit for nothing now, but to be hang’d up amongst the
monsters in a ’Pothecaries Shop, where, with abuse to
the Beast, she would be taken for a large Apes skin stufft
with Hay. Ah, Flora, if she were as Young as thou art,
then’t might be likely, I might find her when she was lost.

Flor. Well, if she be not here now, I’m sure it was not for
nothing you once lost your way into her Chamber,
and staid all Night.

Jasp. Meer Drunkenness, by this Light, Flora! Why, if it had
been a Vault full of Dead Carkasses, I should have slipt
into it in the pickle I was in—Nay, for ought I know,
with more pleasure too.

Nurse. Now out upon you for a Rogue,
there’s no

Jasp. Do but hear me, Nurse.

Flor. Ay, hear him, Nurse, he’l be sure to recant and
swear you’re as sweet as—a—fogh—so sweet—

Nurse. What, Hussy, dare you abuse me—I that gave suck
to my Lady before thou wast born—you Young Whore.

Flor. Young Whore! why not Old Whore, Nurse, as well as
young Whore?

Nurse. You damn’d Young Slut, I’le tear out your Eyes.

Flor. My Feet shall save my Eyes, except you can out-run
me to my Lady.

Jasp. Have not you made fine work now? I but dissembled
to take off suspition—and you must shew your self,
i’m sure I shall be turn’d away for your folly.

Nurse. But dissembled, said you? Marry, there’s dissembling indeed.

Jasp. Nay, Nurse, consider, dost think I would have spoke so
in thy hearing, had it been for any other thing? But
prethee kiss me—I protest thou’rt as sweet as Arsifettito.

Nurse. Arsifettito! What’s that?

Jasp. A Rich perfume the Chymists make, and good against
fits o’ th’ Mother. But what shall I do now? I shall
be turn’d away.

Nurse. I’le warrant thee, I’le place thee with Eugenia, she
shall take care of thee for mine and a Friends sake
of hers.

Jasp. Ay, ay, that’s Francisco; but you have promis’d me
often to tell me a secret concerns them; prethee
do’t now, Nurse.

Nurse. But will you ne’re speak on’t? If you do, I shall
get no more money for thee, Jasper; that’s the way,
i get all, Chuck; no, no, no matter what’s between them,
trust thou to me.

Jasp. Well, Nurse, I thought you had Lov’d me, but I see
you do not; you know I can keep secrets.

Nurse. Ay, but this is such a one I dare not tell it; besides,
it was not Eugenias fault at first—alas, poor
fool, she was in a sad taking, when she found
her Couzen Francisco in Bed with her.

Jasp. In Bed, sayst thou?

Nurse. Lord bless me! what have I done? If you should
tell now.

Jasp. Ne’re fear it, tell me all: I would not for the
world have mist this Story, it makes a full amends
for all my Crosses; come, Nurse, prethee quickly
tell me all passages.

Nurse. I tell no more, my mind misgives me I’ve said
too much already.

Jasp. Not tell me more, Old Beldame? Speak it quickly,
or what I know shall soon unto my Lord.

Nurse. How now! Is this dissembling too?

Jasp. No, ’tis as great a truth as what you told me of,
Don Francisco’s Bedding with Eugenia; tell me the
rest, and by it save your Life.

Nurse. Dear Jasper, be not angry, and I will.

Jasp. Come, Nurse, do it, and then we’l kiss and be Friends.
I shall have use of her.